


Stay

by LinkWorshiper



Series: Sit, Resist [1]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 14:43:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5167688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinkWorshiper/pseuds/LinkWorshiper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy receives a dire letter in the post begging him to visit Downton. </p><p>Reply to an anon drabble prompt on Tumblr: Jimmy returns to Downton to visit Thomas or Thomas comes across Jimmy somewhere else! </p><p>This is more or less a preemptive bandaid for today's final episode. Let's hope something of this general nature gets implied come Christmas. Prayer circle, prayer circle!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> This is completely unedited and written in the space of an hour instead of doing responsible adult things like sleeping or work. Forgive its lameness.

The letter that came with that day’s post was not what Jimmy expected. For starters, it was from someone he didn’t know -- someone named Andy Parker -- and the lettering looked as though a primary schooler had penned it. But the return address was Downton Abbey and the missive within the envelope was urgent. 

 _MR. KENT._  
I APOlogize if THis is veRy foRwARD, But I wAsn’T suRE wHAT ELsE To Do. I kNow you ARE MR. BARRow’s spEciAL fRiEnD. HE KEEps your LEttERs iN his NIGHTsTAND, wHIcH Is How I FouND youR ADDREss. I KNow LoNDoN Is QuITE FAR, BuT IF You couLD mANAGE it, I THiNk you miGHT FIND TImE To viSiT Do ~~wNTowN~~  DowNTON AGAIN MR. BARRow NEEDs you. PLEAsE.   
-ANDY P. 

Jimmy only had to read it once before he’d packed his case and got on his way. He didn’t even consider what accommodations to make for work or any other sort of plan; all he knew was that Thomas was in some sort of trouble, which Jimmy couldn’t have ignored without it weighing on his mind until it exploded his skull. It didn’t matter that all of his communication with Thomas since he’d left had painted things well, and that he’d imagined Thomas was managing well enough on his own; the very thought of something happening to Thomas that would keep him from writing his own letters was more than enough to motivate him into action. 

He sped as fast as he could to Kings’ Cross and then spent most of the money in his billfold on the train fare. He put his case on the rack above a seat in the last carriage but spent most of the trip too restless to sit in it for very long. He walked the length of the train a countless number of times; he blew the rest of his cash on as much gin as he could swallow in the restaurant carriage and then had to occupy the loo for a good hour when the sway of the train made his drunken belly feel off. He tried very hard not to think about what might be wrong with Thomas. 

When the train pulled into the Downton station, Jimmy had sobered up enough to be afraid. He forgot his case in his haste to get off the train and into the village, up the path and on his way to the Abbey -- to  _Thomas_. His hat flew off halfway there, but he didn’t bother to go back for it. The closer he got to the familiar estate, the more clearly he grasped how dire the situation might be.  _What if Thomas’s been lyin’ to me all this time?_  he wondered to himself, panting wildly as he ran;  _What if he’s been sick and dyin’ all this time and didn’t want me to get worried or somthin’?_

Arriving at the house, he hurried back to the delivery yard as if he’d been there as recently as yesterday. Jimmy banged on the back door like the Devil was powering his arm, and then nearly pegged Anna squarely in the face when the door was pulled open. If she was surprised to see him, the sentiment was quickly replaced by relief. Instead of wasting breath on pleasantries, she merely stepped aside for him and said, “Thank goodness you’re here.” 

“Is it that bad?” Jimmy had to know as he entered the house, unable to ignore the familiar smells and sounds that came with it even in what appeared to be a grim situation. 

“I wish it weren’t,” Anna said simply. 

She started to walk down the hall towards the kitchen, but Jimmy quickly caught up with her. Snatching her wrist, he squeezed hard enough to leave a mark as he growled, “What’s  _happened_. Tell me.  _Now._ ” 

So Anna did. 

She explained to him how troubled Thomas had grown in recent months, his stress over his job security and the unfair assumptions those who didn’t know him well made at his expense. Observations about how isolated Thomas had become without someone at his side to back him up, to give him confidence -- without someone who understood him implicitly without the need for words or explanations. 

“Without you,” she summed up pointedly. “He’s been so lonely without  _you_. You were the wind in his sails, and now he’s alone at sea.” 

“That’s very poetic,” Jimmy said, growing even more anxious at such ominous words. His eyes darted nervously around the hall, which seemed so very much the same as it was, yet so very foreign all the same. He stared at the stairs leading up into the house’s upper reaches and absently said, “But he’s got Ms. Baxter and that. You and some others, right?” 

Anna was silent, so Jimmy pressed her further, pinning her with a sharp stare: “ _Right_?” 

“You better go up,” was all Anna said before hurrying away. Jimmy could have sworn that the sniffle she’d punctuated her comment with was the sort that heralded tears. 

The climb to the attics was dizzying and longer than Jimmy remembered. He passed a number of staff members on his way up, some of whom did a double take when the recognized him, others who seemed confused by his presence. He paid them very little mind, consumed once again with fear for Thomas. His heart rocketed so fiercely in his chest, it threatened to beat through his ribs and splatter against the wall in a splotch of spilled passion and gore.

Jimmy grew nervous when he reached the mens’ hall and saw there was a small congregation outside Thomas’s familiar door, consisting of old Mr. Molesley and a tall lad Jimmy assumed was the infamous Andy Parker. Both wore informal footmen’s waistcoats and were muttering somberly between themselves until Jimmy cleared his throat loudly. In the quiet hall, the sound was loud as an explosive. 

It was Mr. Molesley who noticed him first: “Blimey, is that  _you_ , Jimmy?” 

Andy turned around at the declaration of Jimmy’s name, the look of a startled puppy riddling his features. It took him a few moments before he finally managed to say, “I can’t believe you actually came.” 

“’Course I came -- what, with a letter like  _that_ ,” Jimmy said tersely as he padded heavily towards the pair of footmen, his arms crossed and a frown decorating his pretty lips. “Now which one of you ninnies is goin’ to tell me what the hell’s  _happened_ , eh?” 

“Well, it’s Mr. Barrow, y’see,” Mr. Molesely started, his voice a delicate stammer beneath Jimmy’s stern glare. 

“Yes, I  _gathered_ that,” Jimmy snapped impatiently. 

“He’s had an accident!” Andy interjected before Mr. Molesley had a chance to say anything else. Andy himself seemed a little surprised at his own forwardness, but he at least had to gumption to take ownership of his words by explaining further: “He’s had an accident and I don’t think there’s anybody in the world he’d rather see right now than you.”

Jimmy narrowed his eyes at the taller footman, instinctively wary of such comments, especially after hearing from Anna how presumptuously unkind the rest of the staff had apparently been to Thomas for things he couldn’t help -- for things  _neither_  of them could help. “You seem to know an awful lot about me for somebody I’ve never met before in me life,” Jimmy sniffed, his eyes flicking towards Thomas’s bedroom door, which stood slightly ajar. 

Andy looked sheepish, awkwardly toeing the ground like there was some invisible smudge on his shadow as he said, “Well, it’s hard not to if you get to know Mr. Barrow at all.” Andy briefly checked Jimmy’s unwavering expression for a note of approval, and then nervously plowed ahead with more exposition when he found Jimmy still apathetic. “He used to tutor me some, and almost every night I’d catch him readin’ your letters when I’d stop in. I asked him if it were his sweetheart writin’ him -- tryin’ to be less... less  _rude_ about his, y’know,  _ways_. And so he told me about you.”

“And you think I’m his sweetheart?” Jimmy deadpanned, his face a carefully schooled mask of indifference despite the fact that a trembling sensation had begun to warble in his chest. “That’s why you wrote me for... for  _whatever_ this is?” 

Sensing an imaginary need to diffuse the situation, Mr. Molesley spoke up: “You can forgive the lad, right, Jimmy?” he said with a slight chuckle as if to try and ease the tension; “I mean, it’s a mistake we’ve all made at some point --” 

“Shut  _up_ ,” Jimmy snapped impatiently. He decided abruptly that he didn’t have time for anymore dalliances, annoyed with the way everyone had a different yarn to spin about Thomas and what they  _thought_ he felt. It was time to go to the source. 

Elbowing his way between the pair of footmen, Jimmy grabbed the doorknob and gave it a push. The door swung inwards with almost painful slowness, revealing the familiar little garret just as it had been nearly a year ago. Ms. Baxter was sitting in a chair next to the room’s tiny cot, pausing in her knitting when she realized that someone had entered the room. Her needles clattered to the floor when she saw it was Jimmy. 

But Jimmy was too distracted by the sight of Thomas, who was lying on the bed, asleep. His arms were folded over his chest, wrists wrapped thickly in gauze that still bore muddy flecks of red underneath. He was breathing lightly but unevenly, clearly struggling to find an easy rest. As Jimmy took it in, he became numb to everything but the ache in his face as rage consumed him as the gruesome truth of Thomas’s state became clear. Jimmy had never thought himself nearly as brave or confident as Thomas, but seeing Thomas so vulnerable instilled a protective instinct within him -- especially when he thought of how hard Thomas must have been trying to pretend like everything was fine whenever they exchanged correspondence. 

He stomped angrily into the room and flew at Ms. Baxter, taking his frustration out on her because she was convenient. “ _Accident_?” he hissed, practically frightening the poor woman out of her chair. “This isn’t a fuckin’  _accident_. This happened because you lot can’t stand someone who won’t join your little  _herd_. ‘Cause you hate that there’s someone proud to be  _diff_ erent. This happened ‘cause you had to keep tryin’ to bend him and bend him ‘til you finally  _broke_ him.” His fingers twitched like he wanted to grab a handful of her dress to shake her, but he instead satisfied the urge by saying coldly: “Well, I hope you’re goddamn thrilled with yourselves, then.” 

“Please, Jimmy,” Ms. Baxter said softly, her quiet resilience probably the only thing that could weather Jimmy’s ire. She lifted a defensive hand until Jimmy backed off enough for her to pick up her knitting needles, which she laid across her lap beneath folded hands as she said, “We’re trying. Some of us later than others, but we’re  _trying_.” 

“Too little, too late,” Jimmy snapped, uncaring whether or not Ms. Baxter was any more or less guilty than the rest of them. He turned his back to her and faced Thomas, no longer interested in anything else but him. But when he heard Ms. Baxter say from behind, “I’m glad you’re here,” he silently agreed. 

Jimmy then knelt by the bed and folded his arms on the side of the mattress, their contour separated from the cut of Thomas’s form by only the blanket that enshrouded him. He could smell the aroma of tobacco that constantly clung to everything Thomas touched, which had a miraculously calming effect over him. He bent his head forward, touching the tip of his nose to Thomas’s nearest elbow, murmuring, “I’m here, I’m here. And I’m not goin’ anywheres without you this time, alright?” 

Thomas didn’t stir except for his gentle snoring, but Jimmy didn’t mind. Just hearing him breathe was enough. 

“You shoulda told me, you proud arse,” Jimmy continued softly, his vision still filled with the patterning on Thomas’s quilt. “You know I’d’ve come runnin’ if I’d’ve known you needed me.” 

Lifting his chin, Jimmy at last fixed his attention on Thomas’s face, which was far more handsome than he remembered it being.  _And he’d always been handsome_ , Jimmy found himself thinking with embarrassing clarity. Struck with it, it made Jimmy wish he’d been braver -- brave enough to say the things he only ever thought about when they’d been together, to shout out the truth of what he’d  _really_ wanted to say to Thomas on that fateful morning they’d been parted. He recalled the way he’d desperately tried to catch Thomas’s eyes as he’d stared forlornly at the ground, the way he hated himself for not shouting out words that seemed so simple out of context:  _I love you, I love you, I love you --_

Jimmy allowed his gaze to rove down the length of Thomas’s form, settling on his elegantly poised hands, which were long and pale and beautiful. Seeing them cuffed in those ghastly bandages was upsetting to Jimmy, especially when he thought of how much those hands meant to him. Those were the hands that had so carefully inquired against his as they wound the hall clock together, the hands that constantly pinched cigarette end after cigarette end, and the hands that could swing a cricket bat with more skill than anyone for miles. Those were the hands that had cupped his face so tenderly even when he’d overreacted in terror at being caught out by Alfred in the middle of the night -- the hands that had fought off the thugs at the fair  _for him_. Jimmy’s heart lodged in his throat at the thought, as his own spidery fingers carefully reached for those ashen, perfect hands.  

“All I know,” Jimmy whispered as he threaded his fingers through Thomas’s, “is that I missed you more than I thought I would. And If I’d’ve lost you now....”

Jimmy dared not finish that sentence, already spinning at the idea of what he might have felt if one day, he’d just suddenly stopped getting letters from Thomas with no explanation -- if no one from the Abbey would have bothered to inform him until it was too late what had happened. For the first time, the reality of what truly being torn apart from Thomas would have been like set in, and the discomfort was almost unbearable. The torrent of emotions that he’d tried so hard to snatch out of the wind and keep under his hat stirred within him, begging to be released. Jimmy wasn’t sure he could hold onto them anymore, even if he wanted to. For once, he had a vision of exactly what he wanted.

“I found love where it weren’t s’posed to be,” Jimmy told Thomas at long last, bending close enough that a mere twitch would have given their closeness intimacy. The feathery warmth of Thomas’s breath filtered across Jimmy’s chin, calling him closer -- a heady spell that drowned out Ms. Baxter or the two footmen lingering outside in the hall. Jimmy swallowed an octave, mumbling just a moment from Thomas’s red lips, “Right in front of me.” 

Then Jimmy Kent did the bravest thing he had ever done in his whole life: in the face of the other staff and God, he laid a careful kiss against Thomas’s mouth, a secret fantasy he had only dared to imagine when the lights were dim and he was alone. Thomas’s heartbeat thrummed beneath Jimmy’s trembling lips, valiant and  _alive_ even in the brevity of the touch. He didn’t care about the future and forgot the past, concerned only with that exact moment, which spun on a string, delicate and untouched by anything else in the world. 

When he pulled back, a sharp inhalation filled him when he realized that Thomas was watching him from beneath his heavy eyelids. A sense of peace dangled between them as Thomas smiled softly and Jimmy fought the urge to fling himself back across Thomas’s form and weep tears of joyous relief. 

“Jimmy,” said Thomas, his voice scratched from disuse.  

“I’m sorry, Thomas,” Jimmy babbled, unsure why he was even apologizing. “Just talk some sense to me -- tell me it’s goin’ to be alright.” 

“It’ll be alright,” said Thomas, reaching up to stroke Jimmy’s soft hair in a way he had only imagined he might. “Just stay with me.” 

And right away, Jimmy knew he would -- forever and a day, he would. 


End file.
